Pads and Pince: Of Prison and Unfair Punishment
by Floss
Summary: Sirius Black is in Azkaban Prison for a crime he did not commit. Every few months he receives a letter from the one person he wishes would leave him alone. Takes place before Prisoner of Azkaban.


It was about four years after he had left school that he got the first one. The letters had been arriving for about six years now. Every couple of months a new one would arrive, saying the same damn thing. He had so many now that they lined the floor. Identical pieces of parchment, all bearing the same hallmarks, he was sick of them. 

Didn't they understand where he was? He knew who was sending him these missives of course, they were signed. And if the person who was behind the letters knew where he was, surely they'd know that he could not reply? But did they actually expect him to reply? Was this just another form of torture?

Take away his freedom and then badger him with reminders of his past. Constant, never ceasing little digs about his current situation. The sender knew where he was, there was no way she could not. She'd been a pain in the backside when he had known her. Such a stickler for rules, and deafening silence. Break a rule in front of her and expect to be beaten round the head with one of her precious books as punishment. Oh yes she loved those books. So full of knowledge. And with the right back swing, a very powerful weapon.

Yes it was definitely a new form of torture. She, like everyone else, thought him guilty. Apparently a lengthy prison stay was not punishment enough for him. No, not nearly enough, she intended him to be miserable. As if Dementors were not capable of doing so alone. It was cruel really. Knowing his situation. Knowing he had little chance of ever being free again. To send the same insipid letters to him for an eternity.

She was probably trying to prove a point. This was the first inch he fell down the slippery slope, that in her opinion, had landed him here. This was her way of telling him how it had all started. That he had been bad from the start, and this small thing had been the catalyst. She'd tell her friends that she had seen it coming. That this was when she knew, really knew, what he was capable of. That was the straw that broke the Hippogriff's back. This, for him, was truly the beginning.

But she didn't know. No-one did. They were all blind to the truth. They all thought him a liar, a traitor. To them, he was the downfall of one of the most popular wizarding couples. He knew what they all said: 'If only they'd stayed away.', 'If only they hadn't fallen in with his sort, they'd still be alive.' They were wrong. Every last one of them. He was innocent. Well, not in the strictest sense of the word. But of this crime. Of this crime he was innocent. All he had wanted to do was the right thing. He had done it, believing it would be for the best. Believing they would be safer. Believing that lying worm was his friend, and their friend. And now, here he was, locked away forever. Branded a dangerous maniac.

The last of his friends had left him. The last of his friends could not even look him in the eye. And that was the worst pain of all. Far worse than knowing he'd be here for evermore. Far worse than knowing he might have saved them. Knowing that his last remaining friend could no longer stand to look at him was a bitter pain. It was a pain that would live with him until his dying day.

Although he _was_ innocent. That was what kept him sane. That was what he clung to with all the strength he could spare. His innocence. But who would ever know? There was no way he could clear his name. Not from here. Besides who would listen to him? To the casual observer he was nothing more than a mad man, protesting his innocence long after he had forgotten what the crime he had committed was. He would remember. Every tiny detail. He knew the truth, even though it may die with him. He _knew_ the truth.

In those clear periods, when he could let his mind soar over the hills and valleys he knew so well, he would think of the possibility of escape. The possibilities his escape would earn him. Perhaps a chance to clear his name? A chance to live a life he deserved. Freedom. The word was sweet in his mouth, though he dared not utter it. He longed to breathe clean air, feel the wind on his face. It was the small, often cliché things that he missed. The grassunder his toes. The smell after the rain. Sunlight.

He glanced out of the hole that served as a window. Grey sheets of rain battled towards the ground. The wind was howling, but that was hardly unusual, and over the crash of the surf he could hear the thunder crack. It was like stone being cleaved in two, and gave him half a hope of the prison being torn apart by the weather. He had been there long enough to know that this storm was like all the others. It would not free him, but merely provide a break in the screams of the other inmates.

And through the warring weather came more pain and torment.Out ofthe corner of his eye he could see the window, heading straight for it was the thing that sought to punish him. Another owl. It was her of course, she liked to keep in regular contact with former pupils and offenders. Had it really been three months since the last? It must be, she would never let herself be late.

In no time at all the owl had landed on the straw that served as his bed, shaking its feathers to dislodge the water that clung there. It dropped the scroll with a sharp hoot, and took flight once more not waiting for a reply. The owl, like the owner, knew there would never be a reply.

He stared moodily at the new addition to his cell. He'd open it in a while. First he'd decide where to file this one. There was a spare patch of floor near the door. If he had his wand he could paper the walls with it. Or it could just stay where it was. Maybe if he got a pile large enough it would fall, and suffocate him. End his torture in an oddly poetic way. Well poetic to her anyway. He sighed and reached for it. No point leaving it there. Another would be along in three months time. He tore it open, knowing what would be inside.

"_Dear Mr. Black,_

_Please note that your copy of 'Fantastic Mr. Fox' is still outstanding from the Hogwarts School Library. Your fine now totals sixteen (16) Galleons, two (2) Sickles, and one (1) Knut. You are required to submit the above book to the school as soon as possible._

_Yours, Madam Pince_."

When was the woman going to give up? He threw the letter down to it's brothers, knowing that in a strange way those letters helped him to remember that he was still alive.


End file.
